


Made Her Prison Be

by yonwords



Category: Dollhouse
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-23
Updated: 2011-07-23
Packaged: 2017-10-21 16:16:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/227141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yonwords/pseuds/yonwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. For a small eternity, Adelle stood in the elevator, one hand pressed against the wall. Then she rushed toward the nearest body.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Made Her Prison Be

**Author's Note:**

> Dark fic. Spoilers through "The Attic," then AU. Title from "My Medea" by Vienna Teng.

Adelle woke in her office, her mouth foul and sticky and her hair smelling of vodka and vomit. She pushed away from her desk and stood on shaky legs. She could hardly see through the headache and the dimness of the room.

Judith wasn’t at her desk, so Adelle pushed the call button for the elevator, though it took her three tries. The elevator made a horrid, squeaking groan as it climbed toward her, and she closed her eyes and moaned in key.

The ride down was long—longer than she remembered—and the doors opened on a horror scene.

For a small eternity, Adelle stood in the elevator, one hand pressed against the wall. Then she rushed toward the nearest body.

Claire Saunders lay on her back—or at least Adelle thought it was Claire, based on the doctor’s coat and the hair. The woman’s face was gone, stripped away so that nothing but a mask of blood and muscle and cartilage remained.

Adelle’s hands floated uselessly above Claire’s body for a few seconds, and then she turned and vomited. She was suddenly, achingly sober.

She couldn’t look at Claire anymore, and her eyes fell on another body. She recognized Ivy, jackknifed across a sofa, her abdomen gleaming and open and empty.

Adelle staggered to her feet and moved further into the room, one hand pressed shakily against her mouth. She passed Priya splayed in a pool of blood, her hands severed at the wrists. Ballard lay in an inhuman crumple, every bone in his body broken and twisted. Tony’s heart had been cut out.

Adelle stumbled past them all, sobbing, then stuttered to a halt. Topher sat propped against a decorative carved wall. With a shaking hand, she gently touched his face. His skin still felt warm. The top of his head had been sliced off; his skull was empty.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and the words felt like they were tearing her throat to shreds. “I’m so sorry. Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”

Just past Topher she could see one more body, and Adelle didn’t want to know, but her legs moved toward it anyway.

Echo lay in the center of the room, her arms folded across her chest. Adelle saw no blood, no injury, and it took her several seconds to realize the younger woman’s chest rose and fell. She was alive.

Echo opened her eyes and smiled at Adelle. Her eyes lowered, and Adelle looked down as well. She was covered in blood. It was slicked up to her elbows, had soaked through the front of her blouse and skirt. Her shoes left perfect red footprints behind her.

In her hand she held a carving knife, its blade dark and wet.

“Do you trust me?” she asked, meeting Echo’s eyes.

Echo’s smile widened. “With my life.”

Adelle plunged the knife into Echo’s throat, then stepped back and watched her blood spread across the wooden floor.

“Well done,” a voice said behind her. Adelle turned, and Boyd Langton smiled at her. “We knew you’d fulfill your purpose.” He admired the carnage, his eyebrows raised in appreciation. “We just didn’t expect you to do with quite so much…flair.”

Adelle started to shake. “I killed them all?” she asked, though she knew it wasn’t really a question.

Boyd nodded pleasantly. “And now your job is done. Would you like a treatment?”

Even as she nodded and said, “Yes, thank you,” something inside her shattered, and all she could hear was her own scream.

* * *

Adelle woke in her office, her mouth foul and sticky and her hair smelling of vodka and vomit.

The elevator ride down was long—longer than she remembered—and the doors opened on a horror scene. Adelle stumbled past Claire, Ivy, Priya, Ballard, and Tony, sobbing, then stuttered to a halt. Topher sat propped against a decorative carved wall. With a shaking hand, she gently touched his face. His skin still felt warm.

Echo lay in the center of the room, her arms folded across her chest. She was alive. In her hand, Adelle held a carving knife, its blade dark and wet.

“Do you trust me?” she asked, meeting Echo’s eyes.

Echo’s smile widened. “With my life.”

Adelle raised the knife, but a hand caught her wrist and twisted until she dropped it. She cried out and turned toward her attacker.

Laurence Dominic pulled her sharply toward him and looked at her hard. “My God. What did you do to get sent here?” he breathed.

Adelle stared at him for long second, trying to reconcile this scruffy, dusty man with her former head of security. She felt a rush of relief, of familiarity and comfort, and she began to sob again.

“I killed them,” she told him, begging for something she couldn’t even identify. “They trusted me, and I killed them all. It’s my fault. They trusted me.”

She tried to show him the blood on her hands, but it had disappeared. Her legs gave out. She closed her eyes so she couldn’t see Topher, wrapped her arms around her middle, and rocked.

Then Laurence Dominic was shaking her by the shoulders and shouting her name. She opened her eyes.

“You should leave,” she whispered, “before I kill you, too.”

He rolled his eyes and shook her again. “Will you listen to me for once? You’re in the Attic. It’s not real, Adelle. It’s all in your head, all of this.”

She stopped breathing. “The Attic?” This was important, there was a reason this was important and— She straightened. “The Attic.”

She took in the Dollhouse, the blood and gore surrounding them, and then she closed her eyes and focused on the reality of Laurence Dominic’s fingers digging into her shoulder blades.

When she opened her eyes again, they were the only two people in the Dollhouse’s peaceful, pristine atrium.

Dominic looked around and grunted. “About time.” He looked back at her. “So, what’d you do to wind up here? Finally piss off Rossum more than you could talk your way out of?”

He stood, and she accepted his help to her feet. “In a way,” she replied. She still felt shaky, but she knew where she was, and more importantly, she knew why. She met his eyes. “It’s time, Mr. Dominic. We’re going to take down the Rossum mainframe. Now.”

The smile he gave her had an unpleasant twist to it. “I never thought it’d be you.” She braced herself for invective, but instead he shrugged as though she wasn’t worth the effort and led her back to the elevator. “We’ll meet up with the others, and then we can begin.”

She started to ask what he meant by “others” but then realized that, of course, Laurence Dominic would have spent his time in the Attic marshaling an army. A small smile touched her lips and the shake her in limbs subsided a bit more.

He paused at the elevator door and turned back to look at the Dollhouse. She couldn’t read his expression. She followed his gaze, and for an instant, the bodies flickered back into existence. She forced them away with as much terror as determination.

“So that was Adelle Dewitt’s worst nightmare,” he said. His voice held mockery, but it held something else, too.

She pushed her hair back. “So it would seem. What was yours?” she challenged.

He laughed, a short, bitter huff of breath. “No way in hell am I telling you that.” He turned toward the elevator but then paused again. “What if I hadn’t found you?”

“Oh, Mr. Dominic,” Adelle said, feeling a flutter of dark amusement, “there was never any doubt of that.”

He worked his jaw, unable to find a response, and Adelle pushed the elevator call button. The doors slid open, and they stepped inside in unison.

end.


End file.
